Far Worse Than Death
by YeahImThatGirl
Summary: Oliver and Felicity's POV from their conversation about "The Wrong Woman." Some lines shouldn't be crossed and some things can't be recovered. One Shot.


"Oliver? What are we doing here? The whole city is falling apart!" Felicity was trying desperately hard not to use her panicked voice, but it kept bubbling to the surface nonetheless.

"I know," Oliver sighed heavily as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—no, Felicity snorted, just the weight of Starling City. "I need you to stay here," he finished, looking at her so carefully that she thought he might be joking. When she realized he wasn't she nearly exploded. She had been _clear_ on this from the start.

"What!?" she turned on him, unsure of what expression he would see on her face. "You can't ask me—"

"I'm not asking," he interrupted, taking her by the elbow and pulling her slightly closer—the damn elbow; at first she had loved those gentle touches, now she tried to remain indifferent. "I will come and get you when this is all over," he shut his eyes for a brief moment before he turned away from her, as if this sealed the end of their conversation.

"No!" she roared, stalking after him as he quickened his pace, trying to get away from her.

"Felicity," he warned under his breath.

"No!" she reiterated. "Not unless you tell me why!" she knew why; she didn't understand Oliver's insane demands for her safety despite the risks the rest of the team were allowed to take. So she knew _why_ but she wanted to _understand._

"Because I need you safe!" he turned on her then and she realized how close they were standing, she could see the specks of anger that flicked in his irises but she saw something deeper—fear.

"I don't want to be safe!" she explained for possibility the hundredth time. She didn't want to be safe, she wanted to be useful. "I want to help you guys, help Laurel—"

"I can't let you do that," Oliver interrupted again, his eyes focused on some design on the wall behind her head.

This was ridiculous. They didn't have time to argue. She should be tracking Laurel's phone or helping with wiring at the attack on the tunnel—or something was wrong, something else, she could see it in his eyes.

"Oliver," she said warily. "This isn't making sense," it was a statement, but she realized the tone made it sound like a question. She reached for his arms and finally his eyes focused on hers.

"Slade took Laurel because he wants to kill the woman I love," Oliver struggled out.

"I know, so?" Felicity hated to sound blasé, but she was beyond confused as to where this conversation was going.

"So he took the wrong one," Oliver struggled out over gritted teeth, his gaze never wavering from hers.

"Oh," she said stupidly. She understood. Her brain comprehended because it had always done that for her even when her mouth couldn't keep up; however, she was certain that the look on her face was completely blank. This is what shock must feel like. The wound on her head—she has to have a concussion, she should find Dig and warn him—

"I love you," he whispered, leaning closer to her, those three words fell across her face, the heat from his breath waking her up—maybe, just maybe, beauty could be found in chaos. He was holding her hands in his and that was when she felt it—the cool glass of the syringe.

"Do you understand?" he asked, trying to snap her back to reality before she gave away whatever ploy he had set up for Slade.

She wanted to ask him _Do you understand? Do you understand that some things are sacred, some acts—like killing—immoral, and that some pieces of me—despite the fact that you have my time, my mind, and my expertise—you cannot have my heart to break for your mission?_

She had told him earlier that this had started because he was a killer and that killing now was not the right decision. What she wanted to ask him was if he realized that there was more than one way to kill a person.

"Do you understand?" he asked again, pushing the syringe further into her hand, a slight sign of stress flashing across his beautiful features.

"Yes," she said simply and with that word she felt herself shatter into a million pieces.

She always wondered how people functioned again after someone had broken them—how Oliver had moved on after the island, how Laurel had dealt with the loss—and return—of her family, how Sara had dealt with her sins in the League. Now she understood.

When someone breaks you, they leave you to put yourself back together again, but because you're no longer perfect, pieces get put in the wrong spot and some pieces are missing altogether. When Slade's men came to retrieve her from the Queen mansion, she had rebuilt herself, and she had made sure to leave the pieces of her shattered heart lying on the floor.

* * *

Oliver walked out the door of the Queen mansion feeling bitterly cold, understanding now why the ninth circle of Hell was frozen—and reserved for people who used the hearts of those they cared about to defeat an enemy—the greatest act of treachery.

_You do love her_.

He tried to justify his actions. He hadn't technically lied—if Slade had truly wanted to kill someone that Oliver loved outside his own family, Felicity Smoak would have been the one. He had proven that with the Count and he would do whatever it took to ensure that tonight she got home safely.

But she was also in danger because he had just painted a giant glowing target on her blonde head.

He waited on a hill overlooking the mansion until he had to get to the tunnels to fight the rest of Slade's men. When he turned his back to walk away he hated himself for what he had done and for what he was doing. Slade's men would be back at any time to take her away and he would be half way across the city, unable to help.

He had told himself that it was for the best, but when Slade's voice filled his ear and Felicity's name past his lips, dread filled the pit of Oliver's stomach.

When he entered the building and Slade referred to Felicity as weak, he wanted to argue—he wanted to fight—he wanted to _kill_. Felicity was the strongest person he knew and that was why he knew she was strong enough to survive this; he only hoped she was strong enough to forgive him for it.

When Slade discussed Felicity's death so easily, he could picture her body before him, and when he looked into her eyes, the fear there was real. She might hold the cure, but if she fails, she will die and there was nothing he could do for her. She had always thought that he would be the hero, but in the end, Felicity Smoak, the IT girl who no one noticed until he had fumbled into her office that day a lifetime ago, is the true hero tonight.

Oliver gave her a small nod and she withdrew the syringe and without looking him in the eye, plunged it into Slade's thigh. She dodged Slade's grasp as he fell to floor and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief as Sara pulled Felicity and Laurel to safety.

Oliver didn't fail to notice that Felicity would not look at him as she fled—she didn't even spare a glance over her shoulder in concern. His Felicity would have looked and the only person he had to blame for changing that was himself.

Slade might have lost and he would never admit otherwise, but in a way he will never know, he has won—he has taken the woman Oliver loves from him in a way far worse than death.


End file.
